Okay…maybe it’s just me…but here it is for the entire Blogosphere to read!

So I have these gay neighbors. Totally skyrocketed the house values on my block when they moved in. SERIOUSLY! I adore them. We get invited to their two biggest parties every year: The Summer Party and The Christmas Party. Oh the fun and mayhem that transpires at these parties. Where to begin?

First of all…the bar. They have a FULL BAR in the basement – our neighborhood is filled with homes from the 1920’s. Super adorable, oodles of charm and STEEP STAIRCASES! And yet…the bar? DOWNSTAIRS. I lovingly refer to our neighbors as “Gay-bors”…and in turn, they refer to us as the “Straight-bors”. Turn about is fair play, I suppose.

These parties are filled with screaming queens…and some very wealthy people, I might add. So much laughter and love and good times, I can’t even express all the things that happen, however there are a few firsts that have happened to me at these parties.

I have been known to remove my bra. But I did it in that “stealth” way that us girls do, without actually taking off our shirts? yeah…if you’re a dude and you’re reading this? Next time you’re in a situation where a chick is comfortable enough with you to remove her bra without taking off her shirt? Ask her to do it. You’ll be amazed. Trust!

My very first time getting drunk – at age 35 – was at the Gaybors Christmas party.

Kissing other men. Yep – no safer a place to kiss another man than at a gay party. They don’t want me like that, but they like to lock lips with big chested women, so who am I to turn them down?

I puked. BAD. But it was Donavon’s fault. So I blame him…and I’ll explain why.

So this Christmas Party was about 4-5 years ago. The cocktail of the evening was Vodka-Cran – uh Vodka with Cranberry Juice. I’m not naturally a drinker, so I think there’s another name for this too…if you know it…please enlighten my readers, will you? Thanks.

So Donavon asks me if I want something to drink. I’m all…SURE! He takes my hand and takes me to the basement and pours me a drink. Well, there’s a couple things you should know about the Gay’s when you attend their parties.

They make a stiff drink.

They are extremely generous.

They make a stiff drink.

They don’t like the sound of ice clinking in an empty glass.

They make a stiff drink.

They do not like it when your husband tells them after your fifth drink that we need to “cut her off” or “she’s had enough”. You will be enlightened with a level of bitchiness that even a woman does not possess. TRUTH!

So…we mingle, catch up with the many people who have become our friends at this point, because we make it to both of these parties every year and well…let’s face it…you have a set of straight white teeth and a large ample chest, and the gay men just want to be near you so they can kiss you, play with your hair and feel your boobs all night long. I’ve never met a more loving group of people. I’m sure it’s because Scott and Donavon are such awesome people and they attract the same in their friends, but seriously. For people we only get to see twice a year and perhaps a few visits and waves when they visit the Gaybors, we’ve never been invited to so many gatherings, or to vacation homes…it’s just awesome.

So about 5 drinks in, I made the mistake of letting the ice clink in the bottom of my glass while Donavon was right next to me. His ears perked up and he honed in on me like he was on a MISSION! We were in the basement, I believe at that point. Anyway…he’s all, “Honey…you need another drink.” And my husband said, “No, she’s good. We’re gonna get ready to go.”

All i remember is that I heard Donavon put my husband in his place – it went something like:

This is MY HOUSE! Don’t you tell ME when she’s had enough to drink! You just take your happy little cute ass upstairs and I’ll take care of mah GIRL!

Well then…he tried to take me away before Donavon could get me another glass full of VODKA, and the strangest thing happened. That glass seemed to float through the air and land in my hand as my husband had my other hand leading me up the stairs and he had his back to me…there were, I’d guess, about 15 stairs to climb. And here’s the scary part. The glass was empty by the time we got to the top. Yeah. I guzzled that shit.

So I sorta remember showing off about taking my bra off without actually taking my shirt off, then someone ran off with my bra. Then…I sorta remember sitting in one of their chairs in their formal living room. And then, I remember opening my eyes, after what I can only imagine that I had dozed off/passed out. Opened my eyes, opened my mouth, and PUKED all over the living room. A. LOT.

Some might be embarrassed. Not me. Let’s just say, if you gotta puke after drinking too much? Do it in a house full of gay men. Seriously. It makes them love you MORE! I wouldn’t say that I felt embarrassed so much as I felt bad that I puked all over their designer rugs and furniture. Someone was nice enough to hand me a towel…and there was a “clean up patrol” dispatched…I guess they expect this sort of thing to happen all the time! No less than a dozen people told me not to worry about it. Little did they know that I was so proud of myself.

Let me explain. I had never been drunk before. EVER. At age 35 this was the first time EVER. I was also on a medication that I wasn’t supposed to drink alcohol while on, but I had never been much of a drinker, so I completely forgot about that…I just felt so proud that I had finally experienced the fact that I had gotten drunk! It was a milestone!!!!

So the carpet came out clean as a whistle, needless to say that I gave those parties something to talk about for many years to come and I was outdone the very next year because someone tripped going UP their front stairs while they were drunk and bashed their head on the cement and the ambulance had to come. So…we bonded over that.